


Ghost of a Chance

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy, Fluff, Hogwarts Era, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-16
Updated: 2006-07-15
Packaged: 2018-10-27 05:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10802625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Being a Hogwart's ghost is a lonely business. Sometimes, they need to get involved in student affairs and shake things up.





	1. Between the Dark and the Daylight

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Thanks to deenas, my very first beta, and to my Mothering and CoB friends who encouraged me to write.  


* * *

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry housed many secrets. Disappearing steps and transforming staircases were only the tip of the iceberg. There were rooms, even entire wings that were only accessible by the right person at the right time under precisely the right circumstances. One such room was the Ghosts' Parlour in the dungeons. Down a dark passageway lined with candles, past several icy cold, dank rooms, hung a portrait of the Headless Hunt. No one with a pulse could pass through that portrait, but for those who had left life behind, it was a simple trick to fly through into the freezing chamber.  
  
It was a windowless room, with landscapes featuring graveyards and black velvet tapestries on the wall. Black candles sat in dusty sconces, burning with an eerie blue light that did little to dispel the gloom. Cobwebs gracefully filled the corners, and the cold stone of the wall added to the chill of the room. Uncomfortable looking chairs and settees flanked the room, covered with dust from disuse, and floor to ceiling bookshelves housed such tomes as _Who Moved My Grave?_ and _Death Be Not Proud, Nor Be It Interesting_. Here, the ghosts came to socialize, to rest, and, occasionally, to plot.  
  
Such was the case on a cold September evening. 

Curfew had rung, and most of the students were tucked snugly into their four-poster beds, dreaming adolescent dreams. Not all students, of course, were complying with the rules. Scattered throughout the castle were several couples, busily making up for time away from each other during the summer holidays. Two third-year boys were tickling the pear, trying to get into the kitchens for a midnight snack. A particularly studious Ravenclaw was skulking around the Charms classroom, desperately trying to fit in a few more moments of practice before her exam in the morning. And the Head Boy and Head Girl were making their way down the hall, bickering as usual.  
  
"Honestly, Ronald. How are you going to gain their respect if you insist on referring to them as midgets?"  
  
"Hermione, they are midgets. Did you look at them? I swear, someone puts shrinking potion in the pumpkin juice at the beginning-of-term feast."   
  
"You cannot use your power as Head Boy to intimidate the first-years."  
  
"Power as Head Boy? Will you listen to yourself, Hermione? Gods, it's a badge, a private room, and a bigger bathroom. It's not as if we're the bloody prime ministers of the student body. Power as Head Boy..."   
  
Ronald Weasley chuckled to himself as he looked incredulously at the Grey Lady of Ravenclaw passing by. It was a shame, really. Had he been paying more attention to his living companion, he would have seen all the signs leading up to a true Hermione Granger Outburst.  
  
The Grey Lady turned the corner just as Hermione exploded. Shaking her head and rolling her eyes, she made her way to the Ghosts' Parlour. Being the first to arrive, she made her way towards the only chair in the room considered comfortable. She hovered above it gracefully, greeting the other ghosts as they entered. Tonight was the Ghosts' Council, the monthly meeting when all-important decisions were made. 

  
Twenty minutes later, the parlour was full. All were present and accounted for, with the exception of Professor Binns, who never left his classroom desk. Peeves was flinging himself at the portrait trying to gain access, but this was one place where the chaotic poltergeist could not wreak havoc. The Grey Lady cleared her throat, and moved that the meeting begin.  
  
The first Council of the school year was generally a long and tedious affair. The Bloody Baron dominated the discussion, making demands in his harsh, gravely voice. Moaning Myrtle voiced her many complaints about the loo, the lake, the sewage pipes, and her lack of companionship. Plans were made for Halloween Feast, and the ghosts discussed, in quiet tones, the new Headmistress and the plans to keep Hogwarts safe. Finally, the meeting was about to wrap up.   
  
"I do have one more order of business," stated the Grey Lady in a cultured voice. She ignored the groans of the other ghosts and continued. "As you may have realized, the... situation between the Head Girl and Head Boy still has failed to make progress. Sir Nicholas, if you would, please?"  
  
All the ghosts perked up and began paying attention. The fiery, yet unfortunately still platonic, relationship between Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley was something they had all been paying attention to since the two began squabbling in the Great Hall six years ago. A ghost's day at times, can be boring, and Ron and Hermione had been excellent fodder for ghosts' gossip for a good long time.  
  
"Ahem. Yes, well. I know that many of us were hoping for progress this summer, what with the wizarding world being in chaos, and Dumbledore dying. At this he stopped, wiping a ghost of a tear from his eye. "We had all hoped that they would finally come to their senses and stop their arguing. Alas, they are still fighting as much as ever. More so, actually."  
  
"What do you propose to do about it?" asked a hopelessly romantic, dumpy ghost from Hufflepuff.  
  
"Well, that's the question, isn't it?" said the Grey Lady briskly. "We've sat back for six years now waiting for nature to take its course, but those two are thicker than Polyjuice Potion. Honestly, smartest witch in England, and she can't figure out why it is he drives her crazy? And he's even worse. No," she said with a shake of her head, "It's time we intervened. If we don't do something soon, they are going to end up killing each other. And I don't fancy two bickering Heads fighting it out here at Hogwarts for all eternity."

“I suppose we could... er... dip our oars in,” said the Fat Friar uncertainly. “It would certainly be a mercy if the two of them were to figure things out. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied the Bloody Baron. “It does keep things rather interesting to hear them bickering throughout the castle.”

The Grey Lady gave the Baron a look of disdain. “This is not about keeping them bickering for your entertainment, Sir. This is about _romance_.” The dumpy ghost from Hufflepuff heaved a great sigh. “I propose,” the Grey Lady continued, “that we band together, and do what we can to speed things along.”

A shifty looking ghost from Slytherin made a rather rude noise. “Why,” he said petulantly, “would we want to do that? We’ve watched moody young people wander about this castle for centuries. What makes these two worth our energies?” He shook his head in disgust. “I have better things to do with my time then try to push two lovesick fools together.”

“Such as what?” asked the Grey Lady. A heavy silence filled the room. Truth be told, none of them had much to do with their time. It was over six weeks until the Halloween Feast, and even longer until the Headless Hunt. In the past, the ghosts spent this part of the term reporting back to Dumbledore with news from their houses, but none of them had the heart to go visiting the new headmistress in the old headmaster’s office. Gloom hung over the room like a funeral pall. 

“Well, then,” said the Fat Friar jovially in a forced attempt to lighten the mood, “what do you say we make this interesting?” All faces turned towards him. “I say we each take a turn to move things along. Winner gets to choose the menu for the Halloween Feast?”

“Winner gets to join the Headless Hunt?” said Nearly Headless Nick.

“Winner gets to have the u-bend cleaned?” whined Moaning Myrtle.

“Winner gets the wish of his or her choice,” said the Grey Lady decisively. “So, who goes first?”  
  
The Ghosts' Council continued well into the night. By the time dawn came, the ghosts filed out through the portrait, smug expressions barely visible on their translucent faces. They might not have lives of their own, but that wouldn't stop them from stepping in to make sure the Head Girl and Head Boy didn't make the biggest mistake of their lives.

 


	2. A Pause in the Day's Occupations

Hermione Granger was tired. Her eyes hurt from reading; her shoulders were sore from the potion that needed constant stirring, two clockwise stirs and one anti-clockwise stir, for an hour; her hand was cramped from note taking in Double Arithmancy. The new Potions Master had been in a particularly venomous mood that day, even for him, and she felt the tension knotting the muscles in her neck and shoulders. What she wanted, more than anything else, even more than exploring the new books she knew were waiting for her in the library, was a long, quiet, peaceful bath.   
  
She paused at her door long enough to adjust her book bag and mutter the password-- intelligentsia--and entered the Head Girl's chambers. It was quite a nice change from the common dormitory she had shared with her classmates for the past six years. One of the few things she missed from her pre-Hogwarts life was having her own room, her own space, a place to call her own.  While she was still in the girls' dormitory wing of Gryffindor, she now had an entire room all to herself. It was a simple place. A large four-poster bed took up most of the space, with her trunk at the foot. Cotton sheets, plump pillows, and a large overarching canopy made it the perfect spot to curl up and read. A wardrobe held her robes and other clothing, and a small vanity kept her toiletries neat. A large picture window gave her a view of the grounds, and she centred herself every morning by looking out at the graceful green expanse that surrounded Hogwarts. But the best part, in Hermione's mind, was the desk and bookshelves. Six years of sharing space with Lavender and Parvati made her long for a space to call her own, and it was a blessing to be able to spread out her schoolwork and study without fear of someone spilling nail polish on her work or some other girly artefact that was floating around the room. The desk had an endless amount of drawers, shelves, cubbies, and pigeonholes, allowing her to organise her work to her heart’s content. The bookshelves seemed to have an enchantment on them, for every time she thought she had used up all her space, there was magically room for just one more book. 

She took the time, as she always did, to clean out her bag. Every book went neatly to its home, and she carefully sorted and filed her small pile of parchments. Smoothing out the barbs of her feather quill, she placed it tidily in the spot on her desk that seemed fashioned just for quill storage. She removed her outer robe and hung it carefully in the wardrobe, brushing off imperceptible bits of lint and smoothing out wrinkles that only she could see. Finally, she hung her bag neatly over the back of her hard wooden desk chair.   
  
Aside from the mountains of books, there were very few hints at Hermione's personal life in the room. On her bed was a small quilt her mother had pieced together for her when she was a baby. It looked a little worse for the wear, but was still in amazing condition considering its age. Hermione had been a cautious and careful child, and had cherished her childhood blanket in the same manner she cared for her books. The only other personal touch was the photos lined neatly upon the vanity. One non-moving photo showed her mother and father, smiling. Another photo showed her, Ron, and Harry smiling and joking around outside of Honeydukes Sweet Shop on a Hogsmeade trip. The third was just Ron, cutting up and making faces. Hermione saw that photo, and scowled, gathering up her toiletries and kit bag for her bath.  She passed Nearly Headless Nick in the corridor and nodded to him politely. He noticed her terry dressing gown and bath supplies, and glided off to find Moaning Myrtle.   
  
Five minutes and a sliding bolt later, Hermione slid into the prefects' bath and closed her eyes, feeling the day's tensions slip away. She had chosen the purple tap today, hoping the scent of lavender would relax and calm her before another night of cajoling Harry and Ron to do their homework. She sank deep into the bubbles, closed her eyes, and smiled. She completely missed Moaning Myrtle gliding silently over to the entrance and unbarring the door.

  
************************************

Ron had never been so happy to see a Quidditch practice come to an end as he was today. Tired of bearing the fate of the Wizarding world on his shoulders, Harry took out his frustrations on his team mates. It didn't seem right to him that Voldemort was running rampant and Harry was stuck at Hogwarts at the command of the Order, and Harry made sure his Quidditch team felt some of the injustice as well. Ron left Harry sulking in the changing room, and made his way up to the fifth floor.  
  
"Balneo," he muttered tiredly and staggered into the bathroom. The room was heavy with steam and Ron felt sleepy as the soothing smell of lavender assaulted his nostrils. A sharp scream filled the room, and Ron's eyes snapped open. There was someone in the tub. No, not someone--a girl. Ron scrunched his eyes up tightly and held his hands out in front of him as if warding off a dangerous enemy.

  
"RONALD BILIIUS WEASLEY!"  
  
Ron's eyes flew open again.   
  
"Mum?" he asked confusedly. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light and steam. He looked at the red-faced girl in the tub. "Hermione?!" he muttered in confusion. "Oh my gods."

"Get out!" Hermione moaned through clenched teeth. 

Ron stood, rooted in place. He wanted to move. He needed to move. And yet, strangely, all he could do was stand and stare.  
  
"Get out!" she yelled, hurling a sopping wet bath poof in his general direction. "NOW!"  
  
At last, Ron came to his senses. He felt a blush begin at his toes and slowly make its way up to his face. His mouth gaped open like a fish gasping for air, opening and closing with no sound. He heard his blood rushing in his ears, and squeezed his eyes tight. Finally, fearing a hex, he spun on his heels and fumbled for the door, clumsily opening it and stumbling back into the hall. He slammed the door and sank down against the wall, utterly speechless.  

  
************************************************

As Hermione sank into the tub in embarrassment, Moaning Myrtle flew through the back wall, barely suppressing a giggle. She couldn’t wait to get back to the parlour to report the latest development. While she was disappointed that she had failed, she had to laugh at how utterly clueless the two of them were. Given any other two students, a naked Head Girl and a sweaty Head Boy would have equalled a detention-worthy rule violation. But those two! Moaning Myrtle shook her head ruefully. This was going to much more difficult than any of the ghosts had anticipated.

 

 


	3. The Sound of a Door That Has Opened

Chapter 3. The Sound of a Door That Is Opened  
  
After what seemed like forever, but was, in reality, only ten minutes, Hermione squared her shoulders and rose from the tub. Grabbing a fluffy white towel from the corner, she dried off and dressed.  
  
_Buck up_ , she thought. _He didn't see anything. He couldn't have seen anything. There were bubbles as high as your nose. It's fine, just pretend like it didn't happen._  
  
Gathering her things, she made her way to the door. Taking a deep breath, she flung it open.  
  
"Umph!" Ron cried, grabbing his nose. Hermione looked behind the door to see Ron grabbing his face, blood flowing from his nose onto his robes.  
  
"Ron!" she exclaimed. "Oh my goodness! Are you all right?"  
  
"No, Hermione. I am not all right," said Ron stiffly. "You broke my nose."  
  
"Well, what on earth were you doing behind the door, for pity's sake?" she asked peevishly. "You know, you really ought to pay better attention to where you are, Ronald. You don't notice what you're doing, and then you end up in all kinds of..." Hermione's voice trailed off as she noticed a decidedly pale Ron swerving on his feet. "Oh my goodness. We need to get you to hospital wing. Come on."  
  
When Ron looked as if he were about to fall, Hermione wrapped her arm around his waist and led him down the hall, and up the marble staircase that led to the hospital wing.  
************************************  
When the Bloody Baron floated by Ron and Hermione on their way to the hospital wing, he was shocked by two things. First of all, Hermione had her arms around Ron, and he was clinging to her as if he were a dying man. Second, the amount of blood on Ron's robes surpassed the amount of blood on the Baron. He was unsure as to whether this was a good sign or not.   
  
Floating at a discreet difference behind them, the Bloody Baron listened as Hermione continued to chide Ron for his lack of awareness. Ron, for his part, was putting all of his energy into not passing out from blood loss, and Hermione obviously mistook his silence for agreement. The Baron shook his head in wonder. How could two such colossally flummoxed individuals ever hope to make a match of it?  He left them at the door to the hospital wing, and set off to find Peeves. It was time for him to do his bit to get the two Heads together.  
  
He discovered Peeves outside the great hall, throwing leftover apples from lunch at a group of Slytherin second years.  
  
"Peeves," he whispered in his raspy voice.  
  
"Oh, yes, Your Bloodiness?" Peeves answered nervously. All of the apples fell suddenly to the ground, landing on the unfortunate head of a particularly nasty-looking Slytherin.  
  
"Come with me. I have a job for you to do."  
****************************************  
An hour later, a tired Ron and an embarrassed Hermione were making their way back to Gryffindor tower. Madame Pomfrey stopped the bleeding, reset Ron's nose, and gave him a blood replenishing potion. Ron was given the all-clear, and Hermione was left with the task of getting him back to the common room.   
  
"I don't want to go back to the common room, Hermione," he whined. "I want to go and eat. It's been hours since lunch, and soon there won't be any food left. Honestly, I'm fine."  
  
"Madame Pomfrey explicitly said that you were to go lie down a bit." Hermione replied waspishly. "You may feel fine, Ron, but you shouldn't disobey a medical professional."  
  
"I wouldn't have had to see a medical professional if you hadn't bashed my nose in with a bathroom door," muttered Ron under his breath.  
  
"Well," said Hermione, rounding on him, "You wouldn't have been bashed in the nose with a bathroom door, had you not been skulking around the bathroom." Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously, and Ron could tell she was working up a good head of steam by which to tell him off. He was just ready to make a retort when he noticed a series of bouncing crystal balls falling from the trapdoor entrance to the divination classroom.  
  
"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, making his way towards the ladder that led to the classroom.  
  
"Language, Ronald," corrected Hermione with a long-suffering sigh, as she followed him to see what was wrong.  
*****************************************************  
Hermione followed Ron up the ladder into the Divination tower, where Peeves was gleefully bouncing crystal balls out the trapdoor and down the hall.  
  
"Peeves!" said Hermione sharply, "You stop that this instant."  
  
She was rewarded by a wet raspberry, and a crystal ball thrown at her head. Ron grabbed Hermione and pulled her out of the line of fire.  
  
"Oi, Peeves! Knock it off, now, or we'll have to get the Bloody Baron after you!"  
  
Peeves cackled with glee and flew through the trapdoor, closing it with a slam behind him. Hermione knelt down and began gathering up the crystal balls as Ron set the squashy chairs to rights. When everything was back in its proper place, Hermione walked over to open the door. It was stuck fast.  
  
"Alohomora," she sighed, pointing her wand. The door remained shut. "Alohomora!" she said in a louder voice. Still, nothing. "Oh, for heaven's sake" she muttered tiredly. 

“Sure you’ve got the old swish and flick right there, Hermione?” Ron said devilishly. Hermione turned and glared at him, shutting him up more effectively than a _silencio_ charm.

She grabbed the handle to the trap door once again and pulled it with all her might. The door would not open. She looked wildly at Ron, and back at the door, and began banging. "Peeves!" she yelled, "You let us out RIGHT NOW, do you understand? NOW! I am Head Girl- I have duties. Let us out! Damn it, Peeves!"   
  
"Language, Hermione," Ron said with a snicker.  
  
Hermione spun on her heels, a wild look in her eyes, wand pointing straight at Ron. "And what, precisely, are you smirking at?"  
  
"Um, nothing, Hermione," stuttered Ron, hands up in surrender. "Look, let me try, OK?" Several minutes, three spells, and a thrown chair later, they were still stuck. Hermione sat down on a pink chintz chair, looking very unhappy. Ron began searching the cupboards where Professor Trelawney kept the loose tea.  
  
"What are you doing?" asked Hermione from her seat.  
  
"Looking to see if... A HA!" exclaimed Ron joyfully, as he pulled a pack of tea, some honey, and a slightly squashed package of pumpkin pasties from the cupboard. "Dinner!"  
  
Hermione barely hid a smile as she watched Ron preparing a small tea. _Honestly_ , she thought, _that boy thinks with his stomach_.   
  
"Incendio!" Ron pointed his wand towards the fireplace, starting a small fire. He put the kettle on and began spreading a napkin on the small round table in front of Hermione. He laid out the pasties and gathered tea cups from the shelves. When the tea was ready, he poured, and offered Hermione a cup and a pastie. They ate in companionable silence until the food was gone.  
  
"What are we going to do?" asked Hermione. "We can't be stuck here all night. We have rounds to do."  
  
"Well, someone has got to notice we're missing eventually," said Ron. He walked over to the window and opened it. There was no one below. "Everyone must be at dinner. Look, Hermione, in a half-hour or so people should be out and walking around. We'll just try to get their attention. We can always take a lesson from Peeves and drop crystal balls on their head," he said with a smile.  
  
Hermione tried to look strict, but failed. "Well, I suppose that would be a better use for them than trying to divine the future," she said with a snort. Her eyes filled with concern. "How are you feeling, anyway?"   
  
"I told you before, Hermione, I'm fine."  
  
"Well, I didn't mean to slam the door into your nose. I... um... I'm sorry, Ron." She reached out and placed her small hand on his large Quidditch-roughened one.   
  
"Oh. Well, that's OK, Hermione. I was actually waiting out there to apologize to you for, you know, walking in on you."  
  
An awkward silence filled the air, broken only by the popping of the last embers in the fireplace. Their hands were still touching, and Ron was doing his best to ignore the heat radiating from the spot where skin met skin. Hermione looked down and stared at their hands with a look of confusion on her face, as if she were not quite sure how they got there or why they were still together. She then looked up and saw that Ron was staring at their hands as well. Then he glanced up, and their eyes locked, brown staring into blue.  Hermione jumped up and went to the door again, pulling the handle in desperation. She fell backwards, landing on her bottom, when the door opened. She and Ron stared at the open door in shock.   
  
"Well, come on then," said Ron, offering his hand to help her up. They stood there for a moment, holding hands, looking at one another. Ron's stomach growled, breaking the silence.   
  
"Come on," he said again quietly. "I bet we can still get some dinner in the great hall." Hermione looked down at their linked hands in shock, and Ron dropped her hand suddenly as if he had realized he was holding the business end of a blast-ended skrewt. The two of them gathered their things and descended down the tower, leaving the Bloody Baron alone in a hidden corner of the room, sighing.

 


	4. They Are Plotting and Planning Together

  
Author's notes: Continued thanks to Deenas for helping me to expand the story and 10 points to anyone who knows the source of the chapter titles.   


* * *

Patrol that evening was an uncomfortable affair. The Head Girl was feeling angry, embarrassed, and confused, as was the Head Boy. As they made their rounds in uneasy silence, they failed to notice the Fat Friar and his friend, the Skinny Spirit, gliding along quietly in front of them

“What was that?” asked Hermione, stopping suddenly.

“What was what?” asked Ron, confused. Hermione stood still, head cocked as if listening. “Hermione, what...”  
  
”SHHH!!” She listened for a moment more. “Oh, for pity’s sake. Someone is up there,” she said, pointing towards the Astronomy Tower.

“Up where?” Ron glanced at the half-opened door. “Oh ho!” he gleefully exclaimed.

“Ron!” hissed Hermione. “This isn’t funny! We need to go up there and, um, you know... erm... stop them” she ended uncomfortably.

“What!” Ron looked at Hermione sharply, trying to gauge whether or not she was in earnest. “Hermione, you’re crazy. I am not going up there. You don’t know who’s up there. You don’t know what they’re doing. We should just move along and pretend like we never heard anything.” Ron began backing down the hallway at a rapid pace, mumbling, “I heard nothing, nothing at all” to himself in a quiet voice.

“Ronald!” warned Hermione. “Come here now. This is our duty!”

“Duty,” Ron mumbled as he made his way back to Hermione’s side. He shut his mouth when he saw Hermione’s exasperated look, but that didn’t stop him from rolling his eyes and heaving a long-suffering sigh. He opened the door the whole way, and gave Hermione one more pleading look. Her eyes widened, and she nudged her head towards the door in a “go ahead” gesture. 

Ron cleared his throat loudly. “Um... Head Boy and Girl on their way up. You might want to... um... get yourselves together.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and charged past him. “All right then. You have no authority to be up here past curf--”  She stopped suddenly. Ron, alarmed by the silence, stopped smirking and raced up the steps.

“Everything all right, Hermione?”

“There’s no one here.” Hermione looked puzzled as she searched the tower. “I could have sworn I heard... but now...” She turned to Ron and shrugged her arms. “No one.”

“Good,” Ron said firmly. “I don’t see why anyone would want to come up here to snog anyway.”

“Oh, I can see why,” Hermione replied, a little too quickly. Ron turned to her, arching an eyebrow.

“Really?” he smirked. “And why, Miss Head Girl, is that?”

“Erm... oh, well, um...” In the bright moonlight, Ron could see the blush creep up Hermione’s face. “Well, it has...you know, _atmosphere.”_

“ _Atmosphere_?” mocked Ron incredulously. “Bloody hell, Hermione. A bloke could freeze his bullocks off up here.”

“Language, Ronald.” The two of them spoke the words together, Hermione tartly, Ron, mockingly. Hermione glared at Ron, but her eyes were laughing.

“Seriously, Hermione. Why would anyone want to come up here to snog?”

“Well, the moonlight is romantic. And it’s private. And there are those cushions over there for, you know, comfort.” Both of them stopped a moment to wonder just why there was a pile of soft cushions in the corner of the Astronomy Tower, and how they got there in the first place. 

Ron stared at Hermione for a moment. “Why, Miss Granger, if I didn’t know better I would think that you had been making use of the atmosphere here yourself.” He didn’t know why, but he found himself upset by the idea that Hermione had been experiencing the _atmosphere_ of the Astronomy Tower with someone other than himself.

“What? No, Ron, I never...I wouldn’t...There’s no one...” Ron looked at Hermione as she spluttered and grew redder by the second, and decided to take pity on her. 

“I know, Hermione. I was just joking.” 

The two of them stood silently for a few minutes, Hermione watching the stars, Ron watching Hermione. He saw her shiver slightly in the cool night air. “Oi, Hermione, you’re freezing!” He put his arm tentatively around her shoulder. “Come on, we should get going.”

Hermione looked at him, startled. For a moment, their eyes locked, and they were at a loss for words.

_He has his arms around me_ , thought Hermione, a thrill running through her.

_I have my arms around her,_ thought Ron, not knowing how he had dared, but glad all the same.

A cloud passed over the moon, breaking the mood.

“Come on, now,” Ron said gently. “Let’s leave this _atmosphere_ behind and finish our patrol.” He reluctantly removed his arm, and bowed towards the door, imitating a nobleman. “After you, milady.” Hermione giggled softly and swept down the steps. Ron looked up at the moon. _Atmosphere_ , he thought, shaking his head. He followed Hermione down the stairs.   

“Progress,” said the Fat Friar to his friend as they made their way towards the dungeons to report the latest.

*****

That night, the Ghosts’ Parlour filled with an air of excitement as the myriad of Hogwarts’ ghosts assembled to hear the reports of the would-be matchmakers.  Moaning Myrtle reported the events in the prefects’ bath with an air of importance, drawing out each moment in excruciatingly long detail. She laughed with unholy glee as she related the complete and utter embarrassment of the two heads in her unnaturally high-pitched voice. “It was impossible to tell which one of them was redder!” She bounced around the room in a hyperactive frenzy, giving her impression of a thrown bath poof. Some of the ghosts appeared disappointed to learn that the two hadn’t gone frolicking naked in the prefects’ bath together. The Grey Lady rolled her eyes.

“Of course it wasn’t going to be that easy,” she said in her low, cultured voice. “They’ve been fighting this for years now.”

Next, the Bloody Baron took the floor, explaining how he enlisted Peeves’ help in locking the two up together in the Divination classroom. When he described their firelight meal of tea and pasties, the female ghosts all heaved a collective sigh. When he spoke of the gentle touch of their hands, another sigh was heard; this one created by ghosts of both genders. 

“Why didn’t you leave them locked up there all night?” whined a pimply ghost from Hufflepuff. “Who knows what could have happened?”

“It was time,” said the Baron simply. “As the Grey Lady said, it does not serve well to rush these things.” He bowed gallantly towards the lady in question, causing a faint grey blue to creep into her cheeks.

When the Fat Friar related the events of the evening, the air in the Ghosts’ Parlour was charged with something that hadn’t been felt there in over a century--hope. Ghosts smiled to themselves, remembering their own romances, both successful and failed, and no longer felt that this was simply a way to pass the time, but a quest to help the two students find true love.  

“Well,” said the Grey Lady, breaking free of her own reminiscences. “Let us see what shall happen tomorrow.”


	5. A Sudden Rush

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table, each engaged in their own task. Hermione munched contentedly on toast while reading the _Daily Prophet_. Harry moodily scratched quill against parchment as he desperately tried to finish his essay for Professor McGonagall. Ron was applying himself to his breakfast with the usual amount of gusto, and surreptitiously casting glances at Hermione.

He wasn’t sure what had changed, or when, but he realized that things were different with her than they were before. In the past twenty-four hours, he held her hand, wrapped his arms around her, and seen her practically naked. Ron stifled a groan at the memory.

“All right, Ron?” He looked up and saw Hermione’s brown eyes, filled with concern.

“Oh. I’m fine. Just, you know, thinking about Potions today.” Ron stared guiltily at his eggs and sausage, a flush creeping up his neck. Hermione stared at him for a moment, puzzled, and went back to her paper.

Ron glanced up again, watching her absentmindedly twirl a curl around her finger as she read. The newspaper hid her brown eyes, but he knew what they must look like, full of intelligence and humour and…

“Ronald!”   
  
Ron jumped two feet out of his chair.

“Do you want something?” Hermione lowered her paper and gazed at him curiously. “You’re staring at me.”

Ron felt a hot flush begin at his neck and work its way up his face, finally settling in his ears. His mouth opened and closed again, making him look like a beached fish gasping for air. Hermione looked at him strangely. After what seemed like forever, she finally rolled her eyes and sighed. She rose quickly and shoved the _Prophet_ in her bag, and rushed out of the Great Hall.

Ron slumped back into his chair and scrunched his eyes tightly shut. He had been staring at her. She was his best friend, and he had seen her thousands of times before, but everything was different now. Memories of her in the prefects’ bathroom replayed behind his eyelids. Her hair, clipped up and yet falling down all at the same time, her eyes brown and peaceful, and then snapping with anger, her skin wet and... and....

_This is not good,_ thought Ron with a sigh. _This is not good at all._

\----------------

Hermione made her way slowly towards the library. Her mind was spinning with confusion. Ron had been staring at her all morning. At first, she thought she had a smudge of jam on her face, but she quickly realised that had not been the issue at all. He was ogling her, plain and simple. And she should know. She, after all, had been sneaking glances at him all morning as well. 

As she entered the library she sighed and made her way purposefully to her favourite study carrol in the Arithmancy section. She pulled out her _Daily Prophet_ to continue reading, but her mind kept drifting. Memories of Ron holding her hand and pulling her up, wrapping his arms around her waist, staring at her in- amazement? horror?- in the prefects’ bathroom rushed through her mind like a whirlwind. What was happening here?

Hermione Granger was not the type of girl to be sitting around in the library mooning over a boy. She was Head Girl, for heaven’s sake. Head Girls did not stare at Head Boys. They certainly did not think of Head Boys gawking naked Head Girls in the prefects’ bathroom. What was wrong with her?

Hermione slowly lowered her head to the table and thumped in there a few times.

_This was not good,_ she thought. _This was not good at all._

\----------------

The Grey Lady had been an unseen guest at the Gryffindor table during breakfast. She didn’t like to spy, but she wasn’t above it, and a ghost of her intelligence had ways of remaining unnoticed when necessary. She saw the pair steal glances at one another, thinking the other was occupied. She saw Hermione’s blush behind the newspaper when she felt Ron’s stare hard upon her, and she saw Ron’s blush when she caught him. She saw Hermione’s awkward and rushed exit, and Ron’s equally awkward reaction. It wasn’t often the Grey Lady was amused, but she allowed herself a quiet chuckle.

_Oh, this is good_ , she thought to herself. _This is definitely good._

\----------------

At long last, the day was over. Gryffindor common room was quiet, except for the occasional popping of coal in the large fireplace. Hermione sat at the large wooden study table, books spread from one end to the other. She brushed her hair out of her face and sighed. In five minutes, it would be time for rounds.

She and Ron spent the day dancing a graceless tango of avoidance.  Every time their eyes met, they would both do a very passable imitation of a radish, the red flush creeping up their faces in tandem. In Potions, they were so occupied with pretending not to notice one another that when their hands accidentally touched, they both sat and stared at the appendages in both thrilled and horrified silence, stopping only when Slughorn deducted ten points from Gryffindor for “standing around doing nothing.”  Hermione was utterly humiliated by the fact that Slughorn, who had never done anything but shower her with points, had cause to take points away. At lunch, the forced conversation was so tedious that Harry gave up after fifteen minutes, hastily making a sandwich and going back to the tower. Being alone was preferable to watching Ron and Hermione clumsily attempt to make meaningless small talk. Finally, it had been too much even for them, and after five minutes of silence, Hermione made her escape to the library, muttering something about Ancient Runes, and Ron was left alone, surrounded by empty dishes.

She hadn’t seen him since. He had been conspicuously absent from dinner, and never showed up in the common room afterwards, either. For the first time in a long time, Hermione found it difficult to focus on her schoolwork. Her stomach kept hopping like a toad, and she felt confused, and resentful of the confusion. 

Ron, meanwhile, revisited the scenes of the crimes. He went to the prefects’ bathroom for some privacy and some answers, but came out feeling more flustered and frustrated than ever.  Memories of Hermione and bubbles kept trespassing in his thoughts. He ended up in the Astronomy Tower, sitting and thinking until it was almost time for rounds. He never even noticed his empty stomach, so focused was he on creating a plan for action. Ron could be a cool and logical strategist when he had a problem to solve, and he applied himself to this particular problem with a dedication that would have knocked Hermione off her feet, had she been privy to the process. Taking a deep breath, he stood up, straight as a soldier marching into battle, and made his way towards Gryffindor tower.

 


	6. They Climb Up Into My Turret

Hermione sat at the scarred wooden table in the Gryffindor common room, head bent over her work. Her quill danced quickly over the parchment, and she stopped only to dip the nib into the ink pot stationed by her elbow. To the casual passer-by, she appeared to be deeply engrossed in revising, as usual, but Hermione’s homework was the farthest thing from her mind.

Centred neatly at the top of her parchment in precise copperplate script was the heading “Negative and Positive Aspects of Pursuing a Relationship with Ronald B. Weasley.” The left-hand side of the paper, listing the negatives, was decidedly longer than the right.

_ Negatives _

_He talks with his mouth full._

_He eats like a pig.  
Really, he has no table manners whatsoever._

_He barges into the loo without knocking._

_He’s crass._

_He swears._

_He has a foul mouth, and a worse temper._

_He makes rude hand gestures in public._

_He’s nosey._

_His hair is a mess._

_He teases, especially the first years._

_He’s overprotective._

_He dated Lavender Brown, so he obviously has no taste._

_He hates studying._

_He loves Quidditch._

_He hates Crookshanks._

_He doesn’t take his Head Boy duties seriously._

_He drives me mad._

_He’s my best friend._

_ Positives _

_He’s very loyal and protective (to a fault)._

_He has a clever sense of humour, I suppose._

_He’s my best friend._

_I love him._

Hermione sighed, and stared at the list. After many minutes had passed, she lowered her head to the table, her long, curling hair obscuring her face. This equation was not balancing out the way it was supposed to, and she knew she was in trouble.

“Hermione?”

She started and stood up quickly, knocking her chair over behind her. 

“You scared me half to death!” she scolded, scowling at Ron. “Why on earth would you sneak up on me like that, anyway?”

“I didn’t... I thought you...What are you working on there, anyway?”  
  
”Nothing!” she answered defensively. “It’s none of your business!”

“Oh, really?” Ron teased. “What’s the matter, Miss Granger? Having a little trouble with your homework?” Ron made his way towards her, straining his neck to see what had the Head Girl so flustered.

“ _Incendio_!” The parchment, as well as those surrounding it, burst into a brilliant ball of flame. Ron froze in place, his jaw dropping as he stared at the defiant young witch standing before him with her wand still pointed towards the table. A huge black scorch mark now decorated the table, and a small pile of grey ash sat where her list had been.

“Bloody hell, Hermione! What did you do that for? McGonagall is going to kill you when she sees that.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and pointed her wand at the table again. Ron gave a frightened little hop backwards, eyes wide as he wondered what strange spell she was going to cast next. “ _Reparo_!” The scorch marks disappeared, as did quill scratchings and ink marks from decades of student usage. The study table looked better than it had in over a century.

“Brilliant, but scary,” he muttered under his breath as she busied herself gathering her things. 

“Yes, well, maybe if you would mind your own business for a change, I wouldn’t have to resort to desperate measures to keep your freckled nose out of my affairs!” Hermione’s brown eyes snapped as she geared up for a good bickering session, and Ron rose to the bait. _This_ was familiar. _This_ was something they could both handle. After all the strange feelings that had been creeping up on them over the past twenty-four hours, there was something very comforting in just being able to scream at each other in the middle of the common room.

“Gee, Hermione,” drawled Ron sarcastically, “I can see how my asking you about your homework would cause you to commit an act of arson in the middle of the common room.”

“You weren’t just asking,” Hermione retorted with her nose up in the air, “You were, once again, and as usual, pushing and prodding into something that was none of your bloody damned business!” Hermione shrieked the last three words like a banshee.

A still silence fell over the common room. Harry, who had been descending the boys’ dormitory staircase to see what the ruckus was, stole a quick glance at Ron, who was standing with a look of confusion on his scarlet face and his eyes fairly popping out of his head, and another at Hermione, who was standing with her wand pointed straight at Ron and her other hand on her hip, face beet-red and hair wild. Harry turned on his heel and went back from whence he came. Three small first-years were cowering in a corner, staring at Hermione in the same manner a baby bird might look at its mother when it discovered she was of the species that devoured its young. Even the older students who had witnessed many a verbal brawl between the Head Girl and the Head Boy seemed shocked at the intensity level of this particular altercation.

At that moment, the mammoth grandfather clock in the corner began to chime nine o’ clock, snapping Hermione out of her anger-induced reverie. She lowered her wand and began gathering up what had survived the inferno.

“It’s time for rounds,” she announced in a voice that trembled slightly. She stood with her bag slung over her shoulder, pulling her small frame up as tall as possible. Her hair was loose and untidy, wild curls springing out every which way. Her eyes, which had been brimming with anger only moments before, were now bright with unshed tears, and her hands were grasping nervously at the sides of her robes. A high colour infused her cheeks, and Ron thought she had never looked lovelier, or more dangerous. She turned on her heel and, with as much grace and dignity as she could muster, exited the common room via the portrait hole. Ron looked around the room at the gaggle of dumbfounded students she had left in her wake, and smiled weakly. Unsure as to what lie ahead, he followed the path Hermione had taken only moments before.

After a moment, Nearly Headless Nick passed through the wall, seeking to confer with the Grey Lady. Unless they stepped in with some ghostly intervention, it looked as if everything was about to fall apart.

~*~

Ron took great strides along the corridor in order to catch up with Hermione. It didn’t take long. As he fell into step beside her, he struggled with what to say. In the end, he decided his safest bet was to say nothing at all. All his plans to test the waters further and see what developed between him and Hermione had blown up in his face, and, as usual, the two of them were left sitting angry amid the pieces. He ran his hand through his already dishevelled hair, and sighed.

“What?” interrogated Hermione sharply.

“Nothing!” Ron exclaimed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Look, Hermione, I...”

“Oh, the library!” she exclaimed.

“What?” said Ron confused, “It’s not as if you didn’t already spend hours in here already today. Why the excitement?”

Hermione glared at him, and Ron cursed his complete and utter inability to go five minutes without ticking her off. “I’m not _excited_ , Ron, although it might do you some good to get excited about the library every now and again. I left my Potions book in there, and I need it to finish my essay for Slughorn tonight. I certainly don’t want to give him any other excuse to take points from Gryffindor.” He turned slightly pink as he remembered exactly how they had lost points for their house that morning. Standing in the middle of the Potions classroom, brewing a Star Grass Salve for calming the injured, they had both reached for the colicroot at the same moment. Their fingers had touched, and they had both stood there, locked in time, oblivious to all that was going on around them. They missed the cauldron boiling over, Harry’s hissed warnings, and it wasn’t until Slughorn rushed over and deducted ten points from Gryffindor that they had finally snapped out of it, snatching their hands away from each other as if they had inadvertently grabbed a handful of Doxy eggs.

“Ron? RONALD!” 

Ron looked over at Hermione where she once again stood glaring at him, angry and confused. _Bloody hell,_ he thought. _Is anger the only emotion I can get her to feel?_

“What?”

“I need to run into the library. Shall I just meet up with you by the tapestry at the hidden staircase?”

“Huh? No, I’ll come with you.”

“Fine,” she said shortly, pushing open the heavy wooden library doors.

Ron squared his shoulders and followed her into the darkened, book-filled room. Books floated about in mid-air, re-shelving themselves with practiced ease. Ron failed to see the Grey Lady in the corner, directing certain books into his and Hermione’s path. Ron ducked as a copy of _Love Lotions for the Lamentably Lonely_ almost hit him in the head. He glanced at the title and laughed.

“What’s so funny?” asked Hermione, her chestnut eyes dangerously narrowed.

“Not much,” Ron muttered, grabbing the book out of the air. “Just wondering who could have checked out this little gem.” Hermione looked at the title and snorted. 

“Adora Ahava obviously never got the memo that love lotions have been statistically proven to be ineffective. Topical creams do not have the same effect as a potion; any first-year could tell you that.”

It was on the tip of Ron’s tongue to ask Hermione why she knew so much about love lotions and potions, but common sense prevailed for a change and he kept his mouth shut. He saw a book lying open on a table.

“Is this your Potions book?” he asked, picking it up and skimming the page. “ _Wizards Are from Mars, Witches Are from Venus: How to Stop Screwing Up and Start Getting Along_. Obviously, this one doesn’t belong to you,” he said with a cheeky grin before he could stop himself.

“Nor you,” replied Hermione with a small smile. She picked up the smaller tome hidden under the book Ron was looking at. “ _Soulmates: Finding Your Better Half in a Dwindling Wizard Population,”_ she announced. “Oh, look at this-- _Chapter Six: Muggle-Borns Can Be Magical._ ” Hermione could barely contain her laughter as she skimmed the chapter’s advice for desperate witches and wizards to scour Muggle locations for potential life mates. 

“Well, it’s true, you know,” said Ron softly. “They can.” He glanced up quickly at Hermione, desperate to see her looking happy instead of looking hacked off at him. He was rewarded by her warm smile, made only more beautiful by the soft rose creeping into her cheeks. Emboldened by her smile, he hesitantly began, once again, to apologize.

“Hermione, I know it seems like this is all I ever say to you, but I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did exactly, or why I keep doing it, but I hate fighting with you.”

Hermione sighed softly. “Oh, Ron. I’m sorry, too. I don’t know why I reacted like that. You just push all of my buttons, and you make me so angry sometimes.”

“I don’t mean to, Hermione,” Ron said plaintively. “Honest, I would much rather make you smile than make you cry.”

“I know,” she smiled. “It’s one of the things I love about you.” The word ’love‘ hovered between the two of them like a levitating Hippogriff. 

Hermione closed the book with a bang. “Come on,” she said as she marched through the stacks of books, “I was sitting back here. Oh, look, Ron, here’s a book for you!” she laughed as she grabbed a book that levitated in place before her. “ _Shut Up and Listen, You Berk: Communication Skills for Hopeless Wizards._ ” Ron gave her a mock glare before his laughter broke through his frown.

“How about this one, Hermione-- _The Surrendered Witch: Spells to Bind Her Soul to Yours_.” A look of worry passed over Ron’s features. “That’s just not right. What’s this doing outside of the Restricted Section?” Ron quickly added the book to a stack that seemed headed towards the off-limits section of the library. Hermione, meanwhile, spotted her Potions book at a table not far away.

“Here it is, Ron!” She lifted it up, and her mouth dropped in shock when she saw what was hidden underneath it. “ _Magic in the Bedchamb_ \--“ she began reading out loud, before she dropped the book as if it was cursed. “This definitely does not belong out here. What is Madame Pince thinking, leaving books like this out here where anyone can see them?”

“What’s Madame Pince doing with books like this in the library at all,” asked Ron, eyes wide. “This is really dodgy stuff, Hermione.” He picked up the book and opened it.

“Ronald!” Hermione said in a shocked voice, reaching up to grab the book from his hands. “Put that down! You can’t read that.”  
  
”Oh, but you can? It was under your Potions book, Granger,” he teased. He lifted the book higher, laughing as Hermione stretched up on her toes trying to reach it. Just as she almost grabbed it, he raised it a tiny smidge higher and Hermione lost her balance, falling into him. Ron placed his hands around Hermione’s waist to steady her and the book floated away and joined a contingent of restacking books. Her white uniform shirt had become untucked during the skirmish for the book, and Ron felt time stand still when his Quidditch-roughened hands encountered the smooth skin of Hermione’s stomach. Afraid of what her eyes might say, he stared instead at the tangle of curls framing her head. She made it easy to avoid eye contact by staring down at the parquet floor of the library. They stood there together, unable and unwilling to separate. 

“OUCH!” yelled Ron. A floating book dropped from the sky and cracked into his skull. Ron reluctantly released Hermione’s waist and read the title. “ _Everyday Love: What You’re Looking for Is Right in Front of You_ by Oliver Obviosa,” he read aloud. His eyes widened as he stared at the printed text. At the sound of a small gasp from Hermione, he looked down at her and met her gaze. She looked confused and surprised and a little afraid; but shockingly, she did not appear to be angry. As the book floated away, Ron reached around Hermione, causing a question to appear in her eyes. He plucked her Potions book from the table, and placed it in her school bag, which had fallen to the floor during the impromptu game of keep away. He picked up her bag and slung it over his shoulder, daring to make eye contact with Hermione again. 

“We have rounds,” he reminded her gently. “Come on.” He tentatively reached his hand out towards her, and it was his turn to gasp when she took it. They walked towards the library door, dropping hands when Madame Pince came bustling down the aisle. Ron held the door open for Hermione, and held his breath as she brushed past him. As they left the library, the Grey Lady smiled.

 


	7. I Have You Fast in My Fortress

  
Author's notes:

Many, many, many thanks to DeenaS for her patience and suggestions- you went above and beyond the call of duty and made my first experience writing fan fiction very enjoyable. Also, thanks to my sisters on MDC and CoB who encouraged me to write, even if it’s fluff and not slash. 

* * *

The tension between himself and Hermione diffused, Ron was finally able to put his plan into action as the two began their rounds about Hogwarts castle. As they walked side-by-side, both students dangled their hands loosely at their sides. Every now and again, Ron’s hand would brush Hermione’s, seemingly by accident, and he was emboldened by the fact that she did not shy away. It was a dance more intricate than anything ever attempted at a school ball--Ron would move minutely closer to Hermione, swinging his arm just so, and his pinkie finger would brush up against her thumb. She would allow it, just for a moment, and then she would swing her arm away. Next, Hermione would make an imperceptible move towards Ron, and once again their fingers would meet, this time, for a fraction of a moment longer, until Hermione lifted her hand to sweep a curl out of her eyes.

“So,” she said suddenly, startling Ron by breaking the heavy silence, “Shall we start at the top or the bottom?” Every off-colour joke Ron had ever heard came to mind, and he blushed from head to toe. _Stop it,_ he thought to himself, _this is **Hermione**_ _talking to you! She didn’t mean anything like that!_ He looked at Hermione, who was looking at him curiously.

“All right there, Ron?” she asked with evident concern. “You’re not getting ill, are you?” She reached up and felt his brow for fever, and then removed it and placed both hands on his red cheeks. “You’re flushed.” He reached up and placed his large hands on her smaller ones. 

 “I’m fine, Hermione.” A thrill shot through her when he said her name. She looked up at him through her thick lashes, and wasn’t surprised that he was looking back. She bit her lip, and a parade of emotions marched through her mind.

Ron almost laughed as he watched Hermione’s expressions quickly change as she worked her way through a myriad of thoughts. He thought he saw concern for him, then shock with a tinge of fear, followed by surprise, and finishing with something he couldn’t name, but excited him just the same. He cleared his throat, and reluctantly lowered his hands. 

“Let’s start at the top and work our way down,” he said, just a little breathily. “If you’re nice to me, I’ll nick you something from the kitchens when we’re done.” Ignoring her look of shock, he hitched her book bag up over his outside shoulder and took a deep breath. Calling on all his Gryffindor courage, he reached out and grabbed her hand. “Come on.” He led her towards the great staircase. 

~*~  

It was a quiet, peaceful sort of night that belied the mad racing of Hermione’s heart, and the wild dervish of thoughts swirling through her mind. While they had been flirting with touching one another all evening, she was shocked beyond belief when Ron finally grabbed her had. While before she had contented herself with wondering whether or not he was intentionally trying to touch her, now, there was no doubting his intentions. He was most definitely touching her, and it was absolutely on purpose.

Their duties began with the towers. They passed by Gryffindor Tower, noting that no students were lurking around the Fat Lady. 

“Good evening to both of you!” she intoned in a cultured voice, looking pointedly at the conjoined hands.

“Hello,” mumbled Ron as he turned a vibrant Gryffindor scarlet. However, he did not, noted Hermione, drop her hand. As soon as she saw their backs, the Fat Lady left her portrait in search of her good friend, Violet, happy to be the one with a bit of gossip for a change. 

They passed the entrance to the Divination Tower. Ron reached up towards the trap door with his free hand and gave the handle a tug. “Tight as a nut,” he proclaimed, walking on with Hermione in tow.

They next made their way towards the Astronomy Tower. Ron opened the door, and called up.

“Yoo hoo! Anyone home?”

“Honestly, Ronald. It’s not as if someone’s actually going to answer.” This time it was Hermione who pulled Ron up the tower stairs. When they reached the top, Ron was proven correct--there were no couples making use of the Astronomy Tower this evening.

He grinned cheekily at Hermione, and she rolled her eyes at him. Suddenly, something in his look changed, and he began leaning towards her, almost imperceptibly. Hermione noted almost dispassionately that she seemed to have stopped breathing. Just when she thought she was going to have to take a breath or pass out, Ron took a step back, still holding her hand.

“Nine more floors to go, Hermione. Come on! We’ve got detentions to give and ickle firsties to harass.”

“I’m not the one who goes about harassing the First Years,” she huffed, letting him guide her down the steps.

They climbed the stairs to the Owlery next. Ron dropped Hermione’s hand in order to give Hedwig and Pig an owl treat, and Hermione quickly wiped it on her robes. Holding hands was nice, but sweaty. She had hardly registered the sense of loss of Ron’s large hand over her small one when Ron slipped his hand into hers once again.

Professor Flitwick’s office was locked and quiet, and if anyone was in the Room of Requirement, they had the common sense to make being undetectable part of their needs. As Ron tipped an imaginary hat to Lachlan the Lanky, Hermione giggled, and was immediately horrified with herself. Since when did Hermione Granger _giggle_?

They quickly scanned the sixth floor and made their way down to the fifth. When the reached the prefects’ bath, they both stood in front of the door for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Ron’s thoughts proved to be rather uncomfortable, and he gave Hermione’s hand a small tug while mumbling “Moving on” under his breath.

On the fourth floor, Ron laughed as Hermione gave an extra strong yank on the library doors.  

“Making sure all your books are safely tucked in for the night?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Oh, shut it!” Hermione said, but without her usual rancour. Instead, she gave Ron’s hand a small squeeze, shocking both him and herself.

When they reached the Trophy Room on the third floor, Hermione noticed that Ron was slowly rubbing his thumb up and down over her own. Nail-- knuckle--joint, and then a brief pause, knuckle--nail. Once again, her mind went into overdrive. _Was **this** intentional?_ So caught up was she in her own thoughts, she failed to notice Ron watching her with a smile in his eyes.

He could see her wrestling with herself trying to figure out some problem in her mind. He noted the small wrinkle between her eyes, and the way the corners of her eyes scrunched up just so. Her mouth was set in that determined half-frown she got when she tried to puzzle out a particularly difficult Arithmancy equation. 

“What are you thinking of, Hermione?” he asked gently, rousing her from her ruminations.

“What?” she replied stupidly. “When did we get in here?” Hermione was confused to find that they were now standing in Charms corridor. After checking the empty classrooms, they made their way through the armour gallery and down the steps to the second floor. 

As they checked empty classrooms to be sure that they were, indeed, unoccupied, Ron was involved in mental gymnastics of his own. He had known since this afternoon that he wanted to kiss Hermione. He wanted it with every last ounce of strength he had. However, he found that making his wants a reality was more difficult than he expected. Sure, he had snogged Lavender Brown, but that had almost always been initiated by her. There hadn’t been much for him to do but go along with it, not that he had minded at the time. But, kissing Hermione! What if she didn’t want to be kissed? What if she slapped him? What if she broke his nose again?

As they continued down to the first floor, he noticed that Hermione was no longer passively allowing him to hold her hand. Every now and again, her grip would tighten, and then loosen, as if she were communicating with him in some sort of tactile code. She was talking to him now, but he had absolutely no idea what she was saying, so focused was he on the gentle pressures she was applying to his hand. All he could do was smile and nod, hoping he was agreeing with all the right bits. 

On the ground floor, Hermione was happy to see that all the broom cupboards were unoccupied. After catching a Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw in various states of undress last month, she couldn’t open a cupboard door without a feeling of dread. Ron laughed as she threw the door open with eyes screwed tightly shut, and Hermione found herself laughing right along with him. Ron grinned widely at her laughter, and she smiled shyly back, and the two of them stood there in the hall for a good thirty seconds, simply beaming at one another as if someone had cast a Cheering Charm over the corridor,

“That would be ten more points from Gryffindor if Slughorn caught us,” Hermione said in a demure voice, causing Ron to laugh again. They made short work of the ground floor, and headed towards the dungeons. They gave a cursory glance around; after all, who but a Slytherin would willingly skulk about the dungeons after hours.  Ron made good on his promise and tickled the pear outside of the kitchens.

“We really shouldn’t Ron!” exclaimed Hermione, even while allowing him to lead her through the portrait hole. She stumbled and fell into him, and he placed his hand around her waist and righted her.

“A promise is a promise, Hermione,” he said, one hand around her middle and the other still holding her hand. “I did promise you a treat if you were nice to me.”

The rational part of Hermione’s mind noted that, once again, she was no longer breathing.

The irrational part of Hermione’s mind, a part that Hermione didn’t even know existed, began to slowly lean in towards the two thick red lips in front of her.

“Dobby is happy to see you in the kitchens, Sir and Miss!” shrieked an overly-joyful voice behind them. They sprung apart as if repelled. Hermione found something very interesting on the toe of her shoe, and studied it as if she expected it to appear on the NEWT exams. Ron cleared his throat and tried his best to regain control of the situation.

“Yes, um, Dobby, we’re happy to see you, too. We were wondering if there was any of that chocolate cake left over from dinner.” It would have been an admirable recovery, had his voice not cracked. Despite her own embarrassment, Hermione couldn’t help it when her mouth quirked up at the corner in a small smile.

“Certainly, Master Wheezy, sir. Anything for Harry Potter’s Wheezy!” He snapped his fingers, and two large slices of cake appeared. Ron quickly ate his with his usual gusto. Hermione was only a quarter of the way through when Ron took his last bite. Hermione pushed hers away.

“I’m stuffed,” she said, looking intently at Ron. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked concern in his eyes.

“Oh, nothing,” Hermione said quickly. “It’s just that you have a smudge of chocolate there, by your mouth.” She raised her finger to wipe it away. Just at the moment, Ron turned slightly, and her finger rested not on his cheek, but on his lips.

_Hermione. Finger. Lips._ Incapable of thoughts, Ron could think only in disjointed words.

_Bloody hell, I stopped breathing again!_ Hermione thought, mentally chiding herself for her language. She snatched her finger away quickly, her heart plunging to see the hurt look on Ron’s face. Before her mind caught up with her heart, she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door. “Goodnight, Dobby!” she called over her shoulder. “Thank you!”

Ron hardly had time to shout his thanks over his shoulder before they were on their way back to Gryffindor Tower.

~*~

Pure adrenaline powered their ascension to Gryffindor tower. When they reached the Fat Lady’s knowing gaze, they dropped hands and looked at each other awkwardly. 

“Flesh-eating slugs,” murmured Hermione, and the portrait swung open. Ron helped her in, and climbed through himself. They entered the common room to find it empty. Hermione looked at the clock, surprised. It was almost midnight. Between the library and their side-trip to the kitchens, patrol had taken much longer than usual.

“Here,” said Ron quietly, handing Hermione her satchel of books.

“Oh!” she exclaimed softly. “I forgot you had that. Thank you.”  
  
”No problem,” he said, looking at her intensely.

As she stared back at him, she dropped her bag to the floor with a thud. He reached up and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, and slowly lowered his hand to cup her cheek. Hermione’s tongue peeked out and licked her lips nervously, and Ron bit his tongue to stop himself from moaning audibly. They deliberately moved closer and closer to one another, eyes locked, Ron’s hand still resting on Hermione’s cheek. When their lips finally, softly, touched, and Hermione’s eyes fluttered shut, Nearly Headless Nick glided silently through the entrance, anxious to share the news that the seemingly impossible task had been met--Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had finally come to their senses, and Sir Nicholas de Mimsey Porpington would finally-- ** _finally!_** \--be joining the Headless Hunt.

 


End file.
